Page 10 of The Royal Street Witch
Let go. As if it were so easy. As if my own family members wouldn’t turn on me if they found out.
“And Aster, I believe you can do it. I believe in you with every drop of blood in my body. I remember looking at you when you were a girl, thinking something special was inside of you. My mother even told me back then, that you would be powerful. You can do this.”
Stunned, I down his drink and close my eyes tightly while he chuckles with amusement. The sentiment isn’t what has me shaken—my whole life I’ve been told that I was going to be powerful; it’s his admission, it’s that the vampires could see it…all those years ago.
A powerful witch, indeed, yet still struggling with the legacy she has to fulfill.
Well, not anymore. I’ve been left on my own, caving to demand after demand for other elder’s benefit. Tonight, I’m making my own rules. If they want me to fulfill a legacy and financially support them, I’ll will, but I’ll do it my way.
Grabbing the envelope from the table, I fold it and place it in my purse. “If we’re going to do this, we can’t be seen together.” My heart is pulsating from what I’ve just said, my mouth suddenly very dry.
“Well, look who’s all business now.” He cracks a smile, trying to hide his victory.
I settle my pumping blood and grab a hold of his collar, pulling his ear close to my lips. “I’m not dying for you, Bastian Delacroix. I’m not dying for anyone.”
My hand slips from his collar and he leans back, his perfectly defined eyebrow arching in appreciation or surprise. I can’t tell, but I hope it’s both.
“Noted.” He pulls a money clip from his front pocket, slides out a hundred-dollar bill, and places it on the table.
I pop a gator bite in my mouth. “You’re right. They do taste like children.”
He grins and straightens his collar, his demeanor sobering. “It needs to happen sooner than later. I’ll be in touch,” he says and walks out of The Jazz House, hands slipping into his pockets, head leaning to the side like James Dean. I motion to Ronnie for another lemon drop. I have a hundred dollars to spend here and a check for a hundred grand in my purse.
IT’S BEEN THREE DAYS SINCEI’ve seen Bastian. Two since I wrote my mortgage company’s name on the check he slipped me and sent it off. I made a deal off the cuff and a little too rash, and the second thoughts steamroll me by the hour. What I’ve agreed to is perilous, but if I can pull it off, my house will be paid for and the risk will have been worth it.
I keep seeing my vampire-loathing mother’s face in my mind.Aster, we don’t associate with parasites. How many times had she chastised me when I was a child? After smiling up at Nicola and Cassius, their beauty taking my little girl breath away. If she found out, she could disown me and strip me of my powers. Our coven, though sparse and slacking on organization, could kill me for treason, I would love to think Aunt Violetta would let no such thing happen to me, but I’m not at all convinced after our visit, and her sister, Rosemary, is even less caring than she is.
“Last one,” Chantal announces as her dainty fingers tie a price tag on a malachite ring. She’s a coven cousin, which means we don’t share blood, but she’s more of a sister by heart and thankfully, a faithful employee. Queen plays over the speakers as Chantal sings along under her breath.
“Nice,” I say as I finish sorting stones that a little girl jumbled up while her mother shopped.
“Coming to my show tonight?” She stands, places the ring in the display case, then scrunches her big honey hair. Chantal sings at a few clubs throughout New Orleans, and though I’ve seen several of her shows, she’s always annoyed that I’m not at every one, front and center.
“Can’t. Have a spell to work on.”
“Uh-huh.” She gives her best unamused glare and I wink at her, trying to dodge any inquiries about what I’m up to. “Sure you don’t have one of them boys slidin’ through the back door?”
“Maybe after the spell,” I lie.
“Did Marky finally leave you alone?”
“After I blocked him,” I say, blowing out my cheeks.
“And Charles?”
“I told him to stop showing up on my doorstep so he told me I was a miserable bitch and that was the last I heard from him.”
“Damn. Any new candidates for the bun that’s supposed to be in your oven?”
I look up from my stones, the question I loathe most in the world plaguing me. “You can help the cause too, you know.”
But she just smirks and shakes her head, a curl flopping right on her nose. “Nope, I’m not a Wildes. It’s your baby everyone wants to be born.”
Everyone. Aunt Violetta. The coven. My dead grandmother. My mother. Most of them dispersed through the bayous of Louisiana, with only a handful of us actually in New Orleans. Daughters forced to have daughters to keep our bloodline alive. The earlier the better, the more the merrier, and I’m not ready, not even close. So I say nothing, and she gets the drift. It’s not a subject I like to talk about, and who would?
“Send me a picture of his abs, for the collection,” she teases. Grabbing her phone, she opens the albumBoy Toysand shows me her latest conquest.
“Freckles?” I say, squinting to get a better peek of the palest ass cheeks I have ever seen, littered with orange dots.
